


Under the Skin

by j_s_cavalcante



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_s_cavalcante/pseuds/j_s_cavalcante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon, it's got to happen soon. Ray'll probably go right out of his mind if it doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuKestrel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AuKestrel).



> Written in under 24 hours for [stop_drop_porn](http://community.livejournal.com/stop_drop_porn/), 2006

It’s going to thunder soon. There are rumbles in the sky, and Ray can feel that crackly potential in the air and the feeling of _waiting_ for it, and something’s buzzing over by the window, some bug that knows, the storm’s on the way, _wait for it, wait for it._

 

Soon, it’s got to happen soon.

 

Ray’ll probably go right out of his mind if it doesn’t.

 

It’s like an itch under the skin, that’s what it is. An itch, an _ache_, like when you have to get yourself to the gym _right the hell now_ and punch the shit out of the heavy bag, because if you don’t you’re going to hurt somebody besides yourself.

 

Ray stands in his living room barefoot and thinks about putting on his gloves, but he doesn’t, he just makes two tight fists and punches the air. _Boom, boom, boom._

 

See, if you hurt somebody? That somebody will be the person you’re closest to in the world and that person is--it tears at Ray’s throat when he thinks it, but lucky for Stella, that person is not Stella anymore.

 

Not that Ray ever hit her, of course. Ray had never even meant to say an angry word to her, ever, but it wasn’t like Ray was very good at holding his tongue when he was upset. Being a cop, he had way too many days when he came home upset, especially after Stella made him quit boxing and stay home with her. Then she’d try to get him to read books to “improve himself” while she did casework on the kitchen table, and Ray tried, but his eyes got tired and he got bored, and he wanted to jump out of his skin, like just before a thunderstorm, like now.

 

So Ray never got improved. He came home like Stella wanted, and when he needed to punch something, he didn’t, but sometimes angry words came out of him instead. Which, if Ray is honest with himself, and why wouldn’t he be, that was _not_ the reason Stella left.

 

Stella isn’t frightened of a few words; she could always hold her own in an argument. She is a freakin’ _champion_ speaker. They don’t let you prosecute the state’s toughest cases for the people of Illinois unless you got the dance moves and the knockout punch, and in the courtroom? Stella’s Mohammed Ali.

 

Ray’s proud of her for that, and at the moment he’s even glad she’s not here watching him dance around boxing with nobody, which he has to, or else jump out of his skin, because the air’s so thick and close. You always hurt the one closest to you, so it’s better to be alone, right?

 

Ray tries that thought on for size. Ever since Stella left, he’s been trying pretty hard to _not_ be alone. He took the undercover job that came with a built-in best friend, and from the moment they met he’s tried to get them singing harmony together on the job, and now, almost a month after the _Henry Allen_, he thinks they’re finally getting in tune, a duet like he wanted. A better duet than he even knew how to ask for.

 

If Ray hurt the closest person to him it would hurt more than…well, Ray thinks it would hurt more than dying, now, because that’s how it felt when he hit Fraser that one time--it felt like something died--and he swore to God he would never hit him again. Not like that. Not meaning it. Not trying to take him down a peg, like Ray was doing when he hit him at the waterfront.

 

Which, actually, Ray’s got to be honest, here: he wasn’t really trying to take him down a peg. Yeah, Ray was yelling pretty bad and he was lashing out, but he was trying to stop Fraser from throwing his life away the next time, because in those tense moments before they jumped screaming off the warehouse into the fucking Lake They Call Michigan, Ray knew it was his own goddamned fault that he hadn’t stopped Fraser earlier, hit him in the face _before _Fraser insisted on trying to nab those three perps without backup.

 

Because how insane do you have to be to go after three guys on the FBI’s Most Wanted list without any backup? And only Ray was armed and neither Ray nor Fraser was wearing a vest. Fraser had on the big red Mountie suit that looked like a stop sign, but that sure as fuck wouldn’t stop a bullet.

 

Ray hit him afterward, because Fraser never fucking listened to anybody, and that time at the docks it almost got him killed. Him and Ray both. And the next time, ’cause there will be a next time, Ray wants Fraser to fucking listen and wait for backup if Ray tells him to.

 

Fuck. That’s part of what this _feeling _is about--what Fraser did today. They were stuck in that corner of the warehouse, way too much empty space in there, and crates and other crap stacked around that the bad guys could’ve been hiding behind, and when Ray waved Fraser back, Fraser’s feet moved like he was going to go on anyway, and he even took a step in that direction.

 

And Ray grabbed him by the front of his big red non-bulletproof jacket and hauled him back, and fuck if Ray didn’t come within two seconds of putting his free fist into Fraser’s jaw again.

 

Fucking Mountie. It was a damn good thing Ray was there, within arm’s reach. Ray wonders if Vecchio ever had the balls to stop Fraser when he was about to pull the Superman routine. Ray doesn’t know, because that kind of thing doesn’t make it into police reports, and Fraser’s not talking.

 

Ray feints a few times into the thick air. The gym’s closed at this hour, and anyway, he’s not going out anywhere with this storm coming on. Ray can tell it’s going to be a hell of a storm. He throws some more shadow punches and he dances like there’s a shadow boxer facing him in the ring.

 

_Boom, boom boom._

 

So Ray’s the partner of an insane Mountie; tell Ray something he doesn’t know. Ray’s partner’s back in his own digs, in his ridiculous storage room of an office in _Canada_, well, that part of Canada that’s surrounded by Chicago, Illinois, on all sides. It’s not like Ray’s apartment is any great shakes, but at least it’s Ray’s and it’s on US soil, in the City of Chicago, with Chicago taxes and Chicago water and sewer and the Chicago electricity that’s flickering a little as the storm gets close.

 

_Boom, boom, boom._ __

 

They got those same things at the Consulate, too, except the taxes, but you wouldn’t know it from the way they’re always reminding you that the Consulate is _legally_ _in Canada,_ never mind that it’s surrounded by Chicago on all sides.

 

Surrounded. Jeez. Just the thought is making Ray feel claustrophobic, and he dances and boxes some more in the open area of the living room, the place where he _dances,_ dances_…_. Well, not so much anymore, at least not the ballroom kind, with the shadow-Stella that he used to dance with. That kind of dancing isn’t so much fun alone. Not that it was exactly _fun _when he was here in the dark alone, aching to have Stella back in his arms, but he doesn’t even have the ache now. He’s finally moved past the specific Stella-ache, anyway.

 

Now Ray sticks to the kind of dancing he can do alone, and it just isn’t the same. He could go out to a club or something, do it there; at least there’d be people to talk to, maybe even dance with. But it just doesn’t have any appeal. He doesn’t know why; maybe it’s the long hours on the job, or the job itself, the bad guys he has to deal with every day, but he can’t stand the thought of small talk with somebody who doesn’t know what a cop goes through, and the idea of dating a cop or even someone who works around them is even worse.

 

_Boom, boom, boom, duck, feint, come up swinging. Boom, boom. One-two. The one-two punch._ __

Fraser’s out there surrounded by Chicago instead of an ice field, and Ray’s in here surrounded by his apartment like a turtle in a tank, and--damn, when was the last time he checked the little guy, anyway?

 

Ray dances over to where the tank is and peers inside. Yeah, Turtle’s okay. He’s got his head under the ruffled edge of the lettuce leaf Ray gave him earlier, and he’s peering up at Ray from under there. He looks like he’s waiting for something, same as Ray.

 

“Rain soon, guy,” Ray tells him. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to get wet in here.”

 

Turtle doesn’t move, just looks at him.

 

“Kinda wanting a girl turtle in there to keep you company, aren’t you? Yeah. Know the feeling.”

 

He knows the feeling so well they should name it after him. It’s only been a year since the divorce was final, but Ray’s been alone longer than that, of course. A marriage doesn’t break up the day you sign the papers; like Stella says, it took years. The few times he and Stella got together afterward just hurt worse in the morning when she handed him his hat and showed him the door all over again.

 

By now, it’s like having a bullet inside somewhere that can’t be removed. The ache is there, but it gets covered over, and some days Ray even forgets about it, especially on days when Fraser almost gets him killed and there’s running and shooting and perps on the loose, and after all that, a fuckload of paperwork.

 

But eventually Ray goes home to his empty apartment and his turtle, and neither one of them has anybody here to cuddle up to. Ray doesn’t know how turtles can cuddle, but he figures they do whatever works for them.

 

The lights flicker again, but don’t go out, and there’s a bright flash from the windows, and bang! Yup. There’s the thunder. Finally.

 

“Kinda feeling hemmed in, huh?” Ray says sympathetically. “Yeah, me, too. I’d take you out of there, buddy, but right now’s not a good time. If the lights go out, I don’t want you out on the floor where I could step on you.”

Turtle moves his head like he understands. Yeah, Ray and Turtle can talk.

 

Thunder crashes outside again, so loud it makes Ray jump a little, and he hears the freaky sound of rain coming, sweeping toward his building like a curtain, heavy drops pelting the sidewalks clean and forcing the loiterers and the corner drunks under shelter.

 

“Wow. Guess we needed the rain,” Rain tells Turtle. It’s one hell of a downpour, the flashes and the bangs coming very close together. The storm’s right overhead.

 

The window over the turtle tank is open a bit, and cool air is coming in now, fresh and clean-smelling, leaving mist on the sill and on the top of the tank. Ray pushes the window almost completely closed, leaving only a little crack so that the fresh air can come in but the rain won’t.

 

The cool air feels good, but Ray doesn’t feel all that different. It’s still muggy and hot inside, and he’ll have to wait for worst of the downpour to pass before he can open all the windows and clear out the heat. It’s almost eleven, and he’d better think about sleeping, even if he won’t be able to drop off till after he gets the place cooled off.

 

He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, swipes under his arms with it, and takes it into the bedroom to throw into the hamper. He’s got his jeans half-unbuttoned when he hears something. He listens. Nah, something downstairs. Something on the stairs, footsteps. Not threatening ones; Ray knows the difference. Probably just one of his neighbors getting in out of the rain.

 

Ray sighs. He does a jazz turn half-heartedly and opens another button on his pants. He still wants to punch something.

 

And there’s a loud knock on his door, right in between two thunderbolts. Ray starts refastening his pants as he heads out there.

 

“Ray? Ray, are you there?”

 

Shit. Speak of angels, like his mom used to say, because she didn’t like speaking of the devil. Ray’s not sure which one fits Fraser better today. Maybe a little of both. Because Fraser moved his feet, Fraser was going to go, he was going to ignore Ray again, but he didn’t. Fraser outweighs Ray by at least thirty pounds and maybe more, but today he let Ray pull him out of there and they waited for backup, and they went in and made the arrest “without further incident,” like Fraser wrote on the report.

 

He forgets about the last two buttons and flings the door open, and there’s Fraser, standing there looking like he just climbed out of Lake Michigan again, dripping and making puddles in front of Ray’s door.

 

“Jeez, Fraser, you were out in that?” Ray’s really surprised, because Fraser’s usually so in tune with the weather that he can predict when a storm’s going to hit.

 

“I know it’s unusual, and I’m sorry, I seem to have disturbed you, clearly you’re getting ready for bed….”

 

Fraser’s blithering, and don’t let him tell you he doesn’t. He’s a master blitherer when he’s got something on his mind that he doesn’t want to say.

 

Ray puts his hand out and hauls Fraser in the same way he hauled Fraser out of the warehouse, only this time Ray doesn’t tear a button out of Fraser’s shirt and practically choke him with his lanyard.

 

“Jeez, wait here, I’ll get, uh, I’ll get something…” Ray goes into the kitchen and finds a dishtowel that was ready for the laundry anyway, and he puts it over the puddle in the hallway. He gets most of the water up and then he goes back into the kitchen to wring it out.

 

Fraser’s standing right where Ray left him, looking bewildered, holding his dripping hat in his hands and shuffling his wet feet. His hair is mostly dry, but that seems to be the only dry part of him. Score one for The Hat. Ray comes back with some paper towels and puts them down.

 

“Here, get your boots off.”

 

Fraser’s wearing his hiking boots with the laces untied, so he just steps out of them and leaves them on the paper towels. His socks don’t even look all that dry, and that’s probably because he left the boots open. Ray can’t figure out what Fraser was thinking, being outside in this rain. It’s still coming down like a flood, and it’s loud on the carport roof under Ray’s windows. Fraser _knows_ weather; he should have known.

 

Ray looks him over critically. “Christ, Fraser, even your jeans are soaked.”

 

“Yes, well. I’m sorry, Ray. I didn’t mean to disturb you at this hour, but you see, I was already halfway…”

 

Ray waves him to silence. “Forget it, buddy, we’re _partners. _Anytime’s okay. I just…I want to ask you in here, but I kind of don’t want to ask all the water in.”

 

“Yes, I see. Very tidy of you, Ray. Well, then, I’ll be going.” And he makes a move like he’s going to step back into his boots and leave.

 

Ray sighs. He reaches behind Fraser and shuts the door. “Fraser,” he says, and he can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Don’t be an idiot. It was bad enough you were out in that once.” Thunder cracks again outside the window like it’s agreeing with Ray.

 

“Look,” Ray says. “What I mean is, you should come in, but you gotta leave the clothes here. Peel out of them. I’ll find you something to wear.”

 

Fraser shuffles his stocking feet, but he nods and starts taking his jacket off. Ray heads for the bedroom, wondering what he’s got that will fit Fraser, ’cause he’s bigger than Ray--heck, Fraser’s _built_, all muscles and brawn. Fraser also has an ass to beat the band; it’s not like Ray hasn’t noticed that, either.

 

Anyway, he definitely won’t be able to squeeze into a pair of Ray’s jeans, even the ones Ray wears loose, but Ray’s got to have a decent pair of stretchy gym shorts somewhere, or sweatpants, even.

 

It’s cooling off in the apartment, and sweatpants will probably be okay. Ray digs around in his closet and comes up with a pair that he thinks will do. They’re dark blue with some gold lettering at the waist that says FOP for Friends of Police, and Ray remembers they’re too big for him. Somebody handed them out to all the cops at a charity softball game a couple of years back, and they were one-size-fits-everybody-but-Ray, apparently. They have a drawstring, so he could’ve made them stay on, but they looked dumb, they made him look like a kid trying to fit into his older brother’s clothes, so Ray never wore them.

 

Well, good, they can be Fraser’s now, if he likes them. Ray grabs a clean towel from the bathroom and takes it and the pants out to him.

 

“These look new,” Fraser says. He’s standing there in his wet boxers--jeez, the guy got soaked to the skin--and he’s got the towel draped around his neck, and he’s looking down at the pants in his hand.

 

“Yeah. Well, they’re not, but I never wore them. Kinda too big. But they’ll fit you. Keep them, okay?”

 

“Ray, I can’t, I mean, that’s not…”

 

“C’mon, Fraser. It’s buddies, okay? Keep them.”

 

“Buddies. Yes. Well then, all right, Ray, and thank you.” He shuffles his feet again like he’s going to put them on, but then he hesitates, and that’s weird. He’s still got the wet boxers plastered to him, Ray realizes, and he’s hesitating about getting out of them. In front of _Ray? _It seems odd, but then, everything Fraser does is just a little odd, anyway.

 

Fraser clears his throat and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and that’s when Ray realizes he _is _standing there staring at the guy, after all, and maybe that’s what is bothering Fraser. Ray doesn’t know whether he’s staring because he almost never sees Fraser stripped and vulnerable like this or because even now, when the guy should look like something Diefenbaker dragged in, Fraser looks so great he could be an ad for a Mountie fitness club.

 

Either way, Ray better stop staring, so he shrugs. “You want some hot tea?” He’s only got ordinary teabags, because where do you get roots and twigs in a normal Chicago supermarket? But at least it’s tea.

 

“That would be wonderful, thank you, Ray.” Fraser’s still holding the sweatpants and not moving off the little patch of floor that has the paper towels, his boots, and his clothes on it.

 

“I’ll, um, I’ll boil some water,” Ray says. He points at the pants in Fraser’s hands. “Look, get out of the wet shorts and get into the pants and go have a seat at the bar, okay? I’ll get you your tea and then you can tell me what you swam over here in the Great Flood for.” He turns his back and goes into the kitchen, and behind him he hears Fraser finally stripping off the boxers and putting the pants on.

 

When he gets the tea done and carried over to the bar, Fraser’s wet clothes are folded neatly on a part of the counter where they can’t do any damage, and Fraser’s sitting there like he’s got a pole up his ass. Maybe it’s just because you can’t slouch too much on a barstool, but Ray thinks there’s more to it, because of the way Fraser won’t meet his eyes.

 

“So what happened, the phones at the Consulate out?”

 

“Well, yes, now that you mention it, they are, and I suppose I could have walked down to the drugstore on the corner to call, but I didn’t want to say this on the phone anyway…”

 

Ray’s getting a weird feeling now.

 

“Well, what I had to say… my grandmother taught me, drilled it into me, actually, that when you owe someone an apology, you give it in person, and so I, I knew the storm was coming, but it didn’t seem all that important at the time, and I just wanted to…”

 

Ray spins a finger in the air. “Fraser, rewind that a sec. Did you say ‘apology’?”

 

“Yes, I did, Ray.” Fraser drops his head down so his chin is practically on his chest.

 

“What do you have to apologize to me for?”

 

“Well, for today, for my actions at the warehouse. I almost gave away our location, and we were clearly outgunned, and I almost--” his voice cracks.

 

And man, that is all kinds of weird, because Fraser never gets all emotional over something that _almost_ happened. Ray’s the one who worries about that stuff, Ray’s the one who can’t sleep at night on days when Fraser almost buys it. It’s Ray who couldn’t look Fraser in the eye today after he pulled Fraser out of harm’s way. It’s Ray who was spitting mad, so mad he could have fucking decked the guy right there.

 

Ray got Fraser out of harm’s way, that’s the important thing. He grabbed him and didn’t let him turn away, and he yanked him back. One of the brass buttons from the serge came off in Ray’s hand, and he almost fucking choked Fraser with the lanyard as he reeled him in. They were nose to nose, Ray glaring in Fraser’s face, and then Ray pulled him silently out of the warehouse and they sneaked back to where the car was parked and called in for backup.

 

Ray probably didn’t say more than a dozen words to Fraser the rest of the day, but there wasn’t much of the day left, anyway. Only enough time to get the report written up. Ray tried to question the perps, but they were no amateurs; they exercised their right to clam up. Fraser found his own way home, and Ray had some errands to do before he went home, so, yeah, they pretty much hadn’t talked.

 

“I almost got us both killed,” Fraser chokes out. He swallows so hard Ray can hear the gulp.

 

Fraser’s looking down at his hands. He’s spreading his fingers on the bar, and for a minute Ray thinks Fraser’s imagining touching something else, because of the way he moves his hands on the surface, like he’s stroking it. “And I’m sorry, Ray.”

 

“Um,” Ray says, “thanks.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

 

“I understand if you’re angry with me,” Fraser says. “I deserve it. I should have listened to you the first time.”

 

“Hey, buddy.” Ray puts his hand down on top of one of Fraser’s and pats it till Fraser looks up. “Look, I’m not mad.”

 

“You’re not?” Fraser sounds skeptical.

 

 “Well, I _was,”_ Ray says. “But that was hours ago. I um, I got through it. The important thing is, when I pulled you out of there you came quietly.”

 

Fraser cracks a little smile. “I didn’t resist arrest.”

 

Ray smiles back and closes his hand around Fraser’s, noticing it feels a little cool, which is another odd thing, because Fraser usually puts out heat like a furnace. Shit, Fraser really got himself soaked out there, didn’t he? “I wasn’t arresting you, just saving your ass,” he tells him. “Standard procedure.”

 

“Yes, well. Thank you,” Fraser says.

 

“You’re _thanking_ me, Mr. Logic?” Ray says, but he’s grinning, ’cause Fraser knows what Ray’s referring to. And, damn--all of a sudden Ray’s blushing up to his eyeballs, because he’s remembering that moment in the ship’s hold when they surfaced and Ray finally got his lungs full of air again. He’s remembering how he coughed and pushed water out of his face and asked Fraser: _“What was that thing you were doing…with your mouth?”_

 

He pretended to believe Fraser’s explanation at the time, but he knew even then it was pretty suspect. Later, he went and looked up buddy breathing in the rescue squad’s files, and he found a couple of interesting facts. One, the _standard_ way of doing it was to blow air into the victim’s _nose,_ not his mouth, and two…it definitely didn’t involve tongue.

 

He remembers that part like it was happening all over again: Fraser’s hands on his face, Fraser’s tongue in his mouth--the only warm thing touching Ray in all of that cold lake water--Fraser’s lungs blowing air into him so he wouldn’t drown. Fraser’s hands all over Ray’s skin under his shirt as he pulled him up another flooded gangway. Fraser’s hand grabbing the waistband of Ray’s pants, Fraser’s thumb on the inside, touching Ray’s ass right between his…. Well, it wasn’t like Fraser was getting fresh, he was just doing what it took to save Ray’s life, but he was manhandling Ray like always, and that time was just more extreme than most.

 

What Ray noticed most when he thought about it later was how much he didn’t mind.

 

So he’s remembering that now, and Ray’s obviously as transparent to Fraser as ever, because Fraser’s gone pink, too, not just his face, but his bare chest. Jeez. Guy blushes all over like he was still wearing the serge. Ray realizes he never gave Fraser a shirt, and he wonders why he didn’t think of it. Maybe because Ray wasn’t wearing one.

 

Or maybe because tonight he liked seeing that vulnerable, human side of Fraser so much that he couldn’t bear to cover it up.

 

Fraser looks down at the bar, and wow, Ray’s still holding his hand. It must’ve been, like, five minutes by now. Ray’d yank his hand back, except what kind of message would that send? Anyway, he doesn’t want to; he likes feeling Fraser’s hand under his, warm now, and solid, and alive, and _Fraser just thanked Ray._

So Ray’s got to say his part of it, too. “Fraser. I gotta tell you. I almost…God, I almost…almost hit you today. Which, I swore to God I wouldn’t do.”

 

“I know, Ray.”

 

“You know? You saw that? And you still apologized to me? Jeez.”

 

“You didn’t hit me, Ray.”

 

“I came so close. When I, when I pulled you by your jacket and got up in your face, I was so close to hauling off and decking you that my other hand was twitching.”

 

“It’s all right, Ray. You didn’t do it.” Fraser has that look on his face like he did that day in the Consulate when he told Ray he _knew_ Ray didn’t whack Volpe. _Because I know you,_ Fraser said.

 

I know you.

 

And suddenly Ray knows what that means, all of it. Ray’s hand is still on Fraser’s and he’s clutching it like a lifeline. And he’s _hard._

 

Oh, God, he’s hard, and he suddenly realizes _why _the Stella-ache is gone out of his gut and what the new ache is. He gets why he was shadow-boxing like a maniac tonight and what that itch under his skin was. His body knows: he’s breathing fast like he can’t catch his breath, and his dick is so heavy and full that Ray feels like it just might push through the front of his jeans.

 

Which, oh God, it’s not like Fraser can be missing this, can he? Because Ray’s standing behind the breakfast bar; he never sat down, and he forgot: his jeans have been half-unbuttoned all this time. He never did them back up, and his boxer briefs underneath are just not equal to holding back a raging hard-on like the one Ray’s got going. Ray’s afraid to glance down, because he can feel that his cock is nudging its way past the waistband of the briefs, and if he moves or straightens up, it’s going to be real obvious to Fraser, too.

 

Just because Fraser _knows him _and just because Fraser isn’t afraid to touch him or to let Ray hold his hand doesn’t mean he’s ready for everything Ray’s body wants at this moment.

 

But Fraser’s cheeks have gone from pink to red and his eyes have gone _hot. _He’s getting up off the barstool and leaning forward. “Ray!”

 

Ray’s got to say this before anything more happens--or doesn’t happen. Because Fraser deserves to know. “Look, Frase, I, uh, I didn’t really want to hit you. I know I almost _did_ it, but it wasn’t what I really--”

 

“I know, Ray,” Fraser breathes like he can barely get the words out. “Hitting me would have been a more socially acceptable course of action, especially in a public place like that, outside the warehouse.”

 

Yeah, Fraser knows.

 

_Ray’s hand gripped the serge and he heard stitches rip, and he felt the scratchy wool wrinkling under his hand, and he felt a button come loose, but he held on. He knew he didn’t have the brawn to pull Fraser anywhere Fraser didn’t want to go, but he would make it so Fraser would have to fucking _hurt_ Ray to get away._

_He held on so tight that his fingers felt numb, but he was not letting go. His other hand came up to grip Fraser’s shoulder, and he pushed Fraser out of that damn warehouse. Fraser held his ground for just a few seconds and then looked Ray in the eye and seemed to nod to himself, and then he wasn’t fighting Ray any more but just letting himself be pushed over towards the place on the docks where they’d parked the car out of sight._

_It wasn’t till they reached the car that Ray felt--he felt anger and fear and love well up in him so fiercely that he couldn’t speak at all. God damn that Mountie, he thought, and he didn’t know what he wanted to do, but he had to_ _do_ something. _He pulled Fraser in so close, so close that he could…that he could snarl in his face like a wolf, and he drew back his left hand and wrapped it into a fist and almost,_ almost _punched Fraser._

_But he didn’t._

_His hand twitched. He didn’t want to hit Fraser. He wanted…what he wanted, he couldn’t do._

_He made himself put his hand back down and he flung himself into the driver’s seat and grabbed the radio handset._

 

Fraser pulls his hand out of Ray’s and comes around the breakfast bar so fast that Ray barely has time to react.

 

“What I wanted,” Ray stammers, “I couldn’t…”

 

“You can now,” Fraser says.

 

“No, Fraser, I, you don’t know--”

 

But Fraser’s _looking_ at Ray now, and if his eyes were hot before, they’re flame now. Fraser’s looking at Ray’s chest and seeing it flushed and he’s looking down at the waistband of Ray’s briefs, and Ray looks, and yeah, just like Ray thought, there’s the head of his cock poking up from under it all shiny and red and wet, smearing clear pre-come on his belly.

 

He’d be embarrassed about it except that Fraser’s looking at it like a starving guy looks at his first meal in a month, and Fraser’s tongue is darting out along his lower lip like he’s tasting something delicious.

 

Ray’s breath catches in his throat. He thinks he might have forgotten _how _to breathe, and that means he’s probably going to need some buddy breathing soon, and he’s hoping he’ll get Fraser’s version of it--the new version Fraser apparently invented for Ray on the Henry Whatsisface.

 

Fraser’s backing Ray up against the fridge, crowding him, and there’s something familiar about that, Fraser crowding Ray physically like he’s herding him or corralling him. He’s done it before, just not when they were both half-naked.

 

Ray leans back on the fridge and a couple of magnets dig into his back, but he doesn’t care, because Fraser’s coming closer, closer--Fraser’s pressing up against him with his big, muscular chest on Ray’s and his skin is, wow, it’s _soft, _and that’s kind of a surprise. Fraser’s hands are callused from hard work just like Ray’s, but the skin he’s been hiding under the serge is soft and feels so great on Ray’s.

 

Fraser settles his hands on Ray’s forearms and slides them up Ray’s arms, and if the look on his face is saying anything, it’s saying Fraser likes the feel of Ray’s skin as much as Ray likes Fraser’s. He moves his hands up over Ray’s shoulders and skips his neck so Ray won’t feel ticklish and cups Ray’s face on both sides.

 

“Let me, please, Ray, let me--”

 

“Yeah,” Ray sighs into Fraser’s lips as they come closer. “Buddy-breathe me, buddy, I’m…running out of air.”

 

And Fraser opens his mouth over Ray’s and pries Ray’s lips apart with his tongue, same as he did underwater on the _Henry Allen._

 

Ray makes his mouth soft and lets him in, and Fraser blows a tiny puff of air into him, but then he drops the joke and starts kissing Ray for all he’s worth, his tongue sliding against Ray’s, hot and wet and really, really good. And Ray _knew _it, he knew how powerful Fraser’s tongue was, but he only ever got one taste of it before and he was way too close to drowning at the time to enjoy it.

 

Ray’s cockhead has pushed all the way out of his underwear and is pressing up against Fraser’s belly just above the waistband of the sweatpants; it’s dripping on Fraser now, and Fraser’s belly’s incredibly smooth, not hairy like Ray’s is down there, and the feeling of that smooth skin rubbing the wet head of Ray’s cock just might drive Ray out of his mind.

 

Ray gets a hand free and works a couple more buttons on his jeans loose and pushes them and his briefs down just enough, and, oh, God, it’s heaven, he’s rubbing the underside of his cock against Fraser’s belly, and Fraser’s corralling him and pressing against him, and just _doing_ his mouth. Ray’s hips are moving a little, kind of on their own, but otherwise he’s just letting it all happen. And it’s good. It’s so goddamn good.

 

Fraser finally comes up for air. “Ray, my God, Ray,” he’s murmuring into Ray’s chin, and he’s covering that with kisses, too, and he kisses up the side of Ray’s face and onto his ear.

 

Ray wraps one arm around Fraser’s waist, and pushes the other hand under Fraser’s waistband. He doesn’t ask, because Fraser’s tongue-fucking his ear, and anyway, Ray can’t form words at the moment.

 

Fraser pushes his hands into Ray’s hair and comes back to his mouth to kiss him again, but he stops in a minute like he’s just come out of a trance, and he looks down. “Ray!”

 

“Yeah, Fraser, sorry,” Ray manages.

 

“No, don’t be sorry, let me--”

 

“Anything,” Ray gasps, and Fraser has already pulled away from him and is dropping to his knees right there, yanking Ray’s jeans and underwear all the way down at the same time. Ray wobbles a little and tries to brace himself against the fridge.

 

Fraser steadies him with a hand on his thigh--and God, Ray wants that hand on him higher--higher, he wants to say, but the words are gone again, and he thrusts his hips helplessly in the open air.

 

Fraser’s all over it, though; Fraser knows what to do. He’s helping Ray step out of the pants and underwear real easy, and he’s bracing Ray against the fridge with one hand, and he wraps the other hand around Ray’s cock, tight and warm, and Ray wants to die of pleasure.

 

Except there’s more, there’s Fraser’s amazing mouth descending on him, and Ray watches as Fraser brushes his lips over Ray’s leaking cockhead and then _licks_ them with a smile like Ray left honey on them; that’s just what Fraser’s expression looks like at that moment. Then Fraser pushes his tongue out real slow like he does when he’s going to taste evidence, and he swipes it over the head of Ray’s cock thoughtfully. He’s _tasting_ Ray, and Ray wonders what he’s learning.

 

There’s no more time for wondering, then, because Fraser’s obviously got whatever evidence he wanted; he opens his mouth wide and takes Ray in, and Ray almost yells at the sudden sensation of heat and wet and pressure. Ray’s cockhead bumps the back of Fraser’s throat, and Fraser doesn’t even gag--wow, he’s got that reflex conquered, too?

 

This, Ray will have to tell Fraser later, is where it’s okay to be Superman. Not in a warehouse, not on the job. But in bed with Ray, or wherever they’re doing it, anything goes as long as nobody gets hurt. Ray’ll tell him.

 

Fraser takes his hand away from Ray’s cock and lets Ray thrust freely into his mouth. He puts both hands on Ray’s thighs and slides them up, up, pushing Ray’s legs apart gently but firmly. Ray’s fine with that, he’s so fine with that, and he’d tell Fraser, but he’s too busy moaning like a porn star.

 

Fraser’s hands go all the way up until his thumbs graze the creases of both legs, then he slides one big warm hand under Ray’s balls, cupping them. He puts the other hand to his own mouth and pokes one finger in next to Ray’s cock, swirling the finger around and over the head till Ray bangs a heel on the fridge and hears several magnets go flying.

 

Fraser takes his finger out and Ray misses it for a second, until Fraser’s strong tongue starts working his cock again, massaging the underside and all around the head and the whole shaft, twisting and tugging just enough, and Ray feels _huge,_ he feels swollen like the clouds must’ve been before the thunder, and he’s starting to see lightning flashes all over again, this time behind his eyelids.

 

He’s got his eyes closed, so he can’t see what Fraser’s doing, but it hardly matters what Fraser does now. Ray’s already going over the edge, he’s past the point where anything could stop him, and he chokes out, “Frase, Frase, I’m going to--”

 

At that moment Fraser’s slick finger touches him behind his balls and pushes into him, and _wham!_ there goes the lightning in Ray’s head and he’s over the edge, he’s falling. He’s coming so hard into Fraser’s mouth that he loses the sense of where he ends and Fraser begins. Fraser’s hands on Ray’s body, Ray’s cock in Fraser’s mouth, they’re all parts of the same whole, and Ray sees that, Ray gets it: they’re one, and he should have known.

 

Fraser’s hands on him are trembling so hard that they won’t hold Ray up any more, but Ray doesn’t need them to. He’s leaning forward, he’s sliding down, and Fraser’s moving his hands up to Ray’s sides, helping him tumble down safely into Fraser’s arms on the floor.

 

Ray may be skinny, but he’s not some tiny girl, so he tumbles Fraser over with him, and they’re rolling on the bare kitchen floor. Ray doesn’t care. He’s streaming with sweat anyway, and Fraser’s hot like always, and Ray puts his face into the crook of Fraser’s shoulder and neck and breathes in his male scent--and wow. Fraser smells _right _and_ good for Ray, _and that blows Ray’s mind, which isn’t the only thing totally blown at the moment.

 

Ray always knew he could have an _artistic_ appreciation for guys--he sure knew it tonight, when Fraser was standing dripping in his hallway--and there was that incidentin junior high that Ray never told anyone about, and if he watched the guys in porn flicks just as much as the girls, nobody else was wise to it. But he _didn’t_ know, he really didn’t know there was a _match_ out there for him in a male body. And right this minute he knows it’s because he’s never gotten a good whiff of Fraser after sex before.

 

He catches his breath and tongues Fraser’s neck. “Frase, you got to let me do you, now. What was that like? I got to know.”

 

“Beautiful, Ray. Just…beautiful. I…your face,” Fraser says, and he’s catching his breath, too. He’s not making much sense, but Ray kind of understands anyway. He’d like to watch Fraser’s face when he comes, too.

 

Which reminds him. He thinks Fraser came, but he’d better check. Ray squirms around and reaches down to try to get hold of the sweatpants, and finds that Fraser still has them all the way on. He never even pulled them down, and Ray can see that Fraser’s dick is hard, tenting the fabric impressively. He strokes it through the cloth. “You didn’t come, huh? I thought maybe…”

 

“Oh, I did, Ray, I just…I didn’t ejaculate.”

 

Ray’s had that happen a couple of times, and it’s a strange feeling. He strokes Fraser again, and Fraser shivers. “Well, you’re still hard,” Ray says.

 

“Right. So perhaps you can, after all…”

 

“Blow you, you mean?”

 

“Yes, if you want to try,” Fraser says. “Although, your knees…well, this floor is perhaps a little--”

 

Ray scrambles up and hauls Fraser to his feet. “I got a bedroom, Fraser. I even got a bed. Come on.”

 

Ray urges Fraser ahead of him into the bedroom, and when Fraser’s knees bang into the mattress, Ray puts his arms around Fraser from behind. He runs his hands over Fraser’s chest and throat and up into his hair and down his back, and Fraser stretches under him like a big cat.

 

Ray strokes all the way down Fraser’s back to his incredible ass. He pushes his fingertips under the waistband of the sweatpants and slides them down, letting Fraser ease them over his erection.

 

Ray kisses each buttock and leaves a mark on the left one, but he’s impatient to touch Fraser’s cock, so he pushes Fraser gently up on the bed. Fraser’s pulling the comforter out of the way. Ray doesn’t know how Fraser can worry about laundry at a time like this, but, hey, that’s Fraser, and Ray’s okay with Fraser being himself.

 

Especially since Fraser decided he could still be himself even if he let Ray pull him out of harm’s way once in a while. _That_ turns Ray’s crank more than anything, and Ray’ll tell Fraser, but now’s not the time.

 

Fraser rolls onto his back and Ray knees his way in between Fraser’s legs, and, wow, the Mountie’s sporting one hell of an erection. Ray’s seen him naked before, of course, but never like this, with a sheen of sweat on his body and his upper lip and his chest heaving, and his dick flushed deep, deep pink and the extra skin at the head drawn back almost all the way.

 

Fraser’s leaking, too, just like Ray did, and Ray remembers what Fraser did to him, so he tries it, kissing the crown with closed lips and then licking the moisture off, and it’s neat, a delicate taste, except it’s really not sweet like a girl’s wetness.

 

He puts his tongue out and licks around the head, and over the slit and down the underside of the shaft, and Fraser bucks up and almost belts Ray with his knee. Ray runs his hands up the insides of Fraser’s thighs as much for his own protection as because of how incredible that move felt to him.

 

Fraser moans, and Ray lowers his head and licks him some more, his whole cock and then his balls, which are smooth and not hairy at all. Fraser’s got pubic hair, of course, thick and dark. Ray runs his fingertips through it before he wraps a firm hand around Fraser’s shaft and lowers his mouth over Fraser’s cock.

 

He gets a few inches in and then has to stop. Ray is not Superman. He still has an intact gag reflex, thank you very much, and he’s not going to play games with it now.

 

Now he just wants to make Fraser feel good, that’s his only agenda, and he knows from experience that it feels just fine to have someone take only a few inches into their mouth and cover the rest with their hand.

 

So he does that, being real careful with his teeth, because he has the unfortunate kind of experience there, and Fraser’s cock is so big and smooth in his mouth. Ray didn’t know it would feel this big. He’s about the same size as Fraser--did Stella feel this stretched by Ray?

 

Ray’s jaw aches a little, but it’s not a bad ache, because he knows what he’s doing for Fraser. Ray figures it’s just the newness; he’ll learn, and he already knows it’s going to be worth it, because above him, Fraser is moaning and thrashing. His balls have tightened up below his cock, and Ray can feel that he’s very close.

 

Ray makes his lips a tight ring and sets his tongue on Fraser where it’ll do the most good. He takes Fraser to a comfortable depth and starts moving on him, up and down, faster, using his hand on him, too, in the same rhythm. His mouth is watering and it’s making Fraser really slick, and once Ray almost loses his hold, but he gets Fraser’s cock back in his mouth all the way and resolves to hang on tighter. His free hand grasps Fraser by the hip and controls his wild thrusts a little so Fraser won’t have to worry about hurting him.

 

“Ray, oh, Ray!” Fraser gasps. He grabs Ray’s hand, the one on his hip, laces his fingers through Ray’s, and squeezes. Ray glances at him just in time to see Fraser’s face scrunch up, and Fraser’s hips go still. Hot come spurts into Ray’s mouth. It’s bitter and thick, and there’s so much that Ray chokes a little when it hits the back of his throat, but he concentrates on swallowing it down, and he sees Fraser’s face relax into its normal, beautiful contours. Ray gets that feeling again, that _knowing_ that he and Fraser are part of each other, and Fraser’s orgasm echoes through Ray’s body, too.

 

He lets go gently, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and clambers up into Fraser’s waiting arms. Fraser’s not snoozing, he’s kissing Ray for all he’s worth, scattering kisses all over Ray’s face and chest, and finally Fraser settles on Ray’s mouth and gives him the single sweetest, hottest kiss he’s ever received. Ray tries to give as good as he’s getting. He pulls Fraser in close and snuggles up to him, and when he happens to have his mouth near Fraser’s ear, he finds himself whispering into it, _I love you, Frase._

And Fraser’s lips come immediately down to Ray’s ear on the other side, and he hears, _And I you, Ray._

Fraser’s said it before, so has Ray—hell, they said it out in the open in the middle of the 2-7 once, but tonight they’re not backing off from the meaning, and, anyway, Ray knows they both meant it back then, too. Who were they trying to kid?

 

He chuckles a little at the thought. Then sighs, and Fraser pulls back just enough to ask him if anything’s wrong.

 

“Nah,” Ray tells him. “Everything’s a lot righter than it’s ever been.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Ray shrugs, and feels how the motion moves Fraser’s body, too. “I just thought of the 2-7 and how maybe this’ll come out and I…I’m not afraid, but I just don’t know what to expect. When someone finds out, I mean.”

 

Fraser tightens his arms around Ray. “The State of Illinois,” he says in his lecturing voice, and Ray knows he’s about to come out with one of those _non sen--non sec--_things that don’t remotely follow anything anyone’s just said, “was the first state in the union to strike down its sodomy laws, in 1961.”

 

Ray blinks at him. “Okay. That’s nice. But I’m talking about the Chicago PD here, one of the most homophobic organizations in the forward-thinking state of Illinois.”

 

“It’s not a crime, Ray.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“Lieutenant Welsh is a fair man.”

 

“Know that, too.”

 

“Well, I don’t see a problem,” Fraser says. “It’s no one’s business but ours and that of anyone we choose to tell, and we can simply opt to keep silent on this issue at your workplace.”

 

“Yeah, but what if we--what if people notice something and start asking questions?”

 

“Ray. What could they notice that they haven’t already seen?”

 

Ray thinks for a minute. “You’re right. Dumb question.” He reaches over and strokes Fraser’s hair. “If anyone _did_ notice, I wish they’d told me; then maybe I could’ve had this sooner.”

 

Fraser smiles and plants a kiss on Ray’s nose. “Everything in its time, Ray. It’s a law of nature.”

 

Ray grins back. “Like thunderstorms. They make you crazy sometimes just waiting for them to come through and clear the air, but they don’t come till they’re good and ready. I thought I was going to jump out of my skin tonight.”

 

“I felt it, too,” Fraser says. “I didn’t think it was the coming storm that was bothering me, though. I was quite unnerved by the events earlier today, and subsequently felt…unbearably distant from you.”

 

Ray leans in to kiss him. “I get that. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

 

“Tonight?”

 

“And any other night you want—ad infini-whatchamacallit.”

 

“Forever?” Fraser translates.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, move in. Like you said, we’re already--”

 

“Yes, we are.”

 

“Yeah. So…?”

 

“All right,” Fraser says, and that’s good, that is greatness.

 

 

The pelting rain’s turned into a soft shower and even that sounds like it’s starting to taper off. Ray’s too tired to get up and open the window wider, but enough cool air is finding its way in for him and Fraser to be comfortable.

 

Fraser’s asleep already. He’s an early riser, and he can put himself out like a light in about three seconds flat; Ray’s tucked in on the floor or the ground with him enough times to know. Ray’s winding down, too, and he feels incredibly good, but he falls asleep slower, and while he’s still mostly conscious he’s enjoying the sight of Fraser sprawled out in his bed with his messy, dark head on Ray’s pillow, and wearing nothing but a look of deep contentment. Ray has never seen him look so relaxed. Fraser was already gorgeous, Ray thinks, but tonight he’s _radiant._

 

Ray probably looks ten years younger at the moment, too, but no way is he going to get up and check. Instead, he curls up behind Fraser so they make like two spoons in a drawer, pulls the sheet and the light blanket up over them, and thinks ahead a little.

 

He’s got the day off tomorrow. The rain will be over by morning, and then Ray’s gotta do some stuff. They’ll have to go to the Consulate and get Dief, and Fraser’s toothbrush, and his spare uniforms, and whatever else he has there--Ray knows it isn’t much--and bring them here.

 

And one more thing: Ray and Fraser shouldn’t be the only ones in this apartment to feel that inner ache finally soothed. So tomorrow he and Fraser are going to go out and get Turtle a girl turtle to keep him company. Or a boy turtle, if that’s what Turtle wants. Ray will ask him.

 

 

_fin_

 

 

 


End file.
